Knight Of The Clown
by vega2
Summary: Halloween memories come back to haunt Michael


Knight Rider Characters:   
Copyright Glen A Larson and Universal Studios   
Rated: PG  
  
  
  
Knight of the Clown  
By Vega  
  
  
Michael took the hairpin turn on screeching tires at sixty miles an hour. The Tans Am easily negotiated the side street and barreled down the one way road off the main highway heading out of town.  
  
"Damn it, Kitt, I don't want to lose this one." He growled, his adrenalin pumping in his veins.  
  
"I still have him on my scanners." Kitt assured him.   
  
"Any idea who he is?" Michael took another sharp left following Kitt's directions and merged onto a rural back road.   
  
"I'm afraid not. I have not been able to compare the clown mask he wore to any known manufacture of clown or Halloween costumes. In fact…"  
  
"Come on Kitt, this is no time for games. What did you find?"  
  
"It's not what I found that is so puzzling; it is what I didn't find. Michael…, I have repeated the scan several times and have come to the same conclusion; that he was not wearing a mask."  
  
Michael glanced down at the hideous clown mask Kitt displayed on monitor two. He had seen that mask once before, years ago. It looked the same now as it did then: White skin peeling away from the skull exposing bone and muscle, black, empty eye sockets and a huge red nose. But that was not the most disturbing feature. The mask had a huge mouth filled with decaying, razor sharp teeth, the lips curled back like a rabid dog, ready to strike.  
  
"What are you trying to say, that this is his real face?" Michael asked incredulously.  
  
"I can only tell you what I scanned, Michael. That face is made up of real flesh and bone."  
  
"Human…?  
  
Michael felt a shiver run down his spine as Kitt left the question unanswered. Silence filled the cabin as each digested the possibilities. In reality there were none, but there was no denying what they had seen, and there was no denying the fear that was brewing in the pit of Michael's stomach.   
  
  
"Take a right at the next road, Michael," Kitt directed, "he appears to have stopped there."  
  
Michael hung a right turn, the Tran Am's tires squealing in protest. The car fishtailed for a moment then straightened out, the headlights cutting through the black night.   
  
"Ahead, Michael, four hundred feet. He is inside a building of some kind."  
  
"A house?"  
  
"I'm not sure what it is. I am picking up strange images on my scanner."  
  
As the headlights spotlighted the house Michael slammed on the brakes.  
  
"Michael?" Kitt asked, alarmed. Never had he witnessed a spike in Michael's vital signs like he saw now. "Michael…?"  
  
Michael stared at the old purple and yellow striped tent… He had seen it before…he felt his heart beating in his chest so fast he feared it would explode. He grabbed onto the steering wheel, willing his mind not to flash back to the past, not to drown him in a sea of fear and terror. But he felt his hand slipping off the wheel, felt himself falling backwards.   
  
He was only seven. It was Halloween and a Fright House had come to town. He was too young to go in. Only teenagers were allowed into the inner sanctum. Every night he huddled in the bushes watching the high school students walk in, their faces glowing with anticipation. He heard the nervous laughs turn to terror filled screams. When they walked out their faces were chalky white. What was inside there? What made them scream, both the girls and the boys? Why were their discussions of what was inside hushed whenever he was near? He had to know.  
  
He checked his watch, the one his mother gave him. It glowed in the dark. It was 11:30. He had twenty minutes to take a quick look inside before the guards came to padlock all the doors. He knew everything about the place: The times when the guards patrolled the area, when it was locked down for the night, when it was opened in the morning. He knew everything about it except what was inside it.  
  
He also had to be back home in bed by 12:30. That was when his mom turned off the TV for the night and quietly opened his bedroom door to blow him a good night kiss.  
  
He took a deep breath and scurried across the walkway. To his relief the purple and yellow tent flap was still unzippered. He pulled it opened just enough to squeeze in. Surprised, he found the canvas tent hid an old wooden structure. Splintered boards covered the walls. Dirt lined the floor. Thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling. There was an unnatural quietness to the place that made the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. No, he was here now. Only a scared little kid would turn back with his tail between his legs. He pulled his jacket closer around his chest. He would do this. He would know what the secret was before the night was over.  
  
There was just enough light to see that the entrance quickly narrowed to a hallway that led to a set of double doors. He could see shapes ahead, but not enough to see what they were. He swallowed hard and took a step forward. Something wet and slimy brushed across his cheek and he leaped sideways hitting the wall, the sound echoing like an explosion. He stood stone still, waiting. If there was anyone in here, had they heard him? A low growl rose up behind him and he froze. He slowly turned around. What little light there was, was cut off by something large and black moving toward him.   
  
  
Smashing his hand over his mouth he tried not to scream, but a bloodied hand reached down for him. He ducked, feeling it scrape the top of his hair as he raced deeper into the darkness. He saw a flash of steel and a huge axe flew past his face, just missing his nose, embedding itself in the wall. He fell to his knees and scrambled beneath it. The walls began to groan and bulge inward, trapping him. He could feel his shoulders being pinned by the rough wood. He screamed, panic propelling him forward, forcing him to push his way past the constricting walls. He stumbled into a huge room lit by torches hanging on the walls. In the corner a steel cage sat ominously, the torchlight unable to reach into the depth of the dark cage. A dim green neon sign blinked "Exit" above the doorway to the left of the cage. He knew he had to pass the cage to get out. He was shaking with fear so overwhelming that he could barely breathe. He only wanted to go home. He heard the sound of a chain hitting the outside of the door. He looked at his watch…12:00. They were locking him in! He ran toward the door screaming, pounding on the door, "No! I'm in here. NO!" he pleaded, "Don't leave me in here." He heard the zipper beyond the solid wood door seal the tent and the padlock locked into place, then silence.   
  
Something moved in the darkness of the cage beside him. He looked up, too afraid to move. He thought his heart would stop beating any second. A huge gnarled hand, its fingernails as sharp as talons, appeared out of the blackness and gripped the cell bar. A deep vicious growl filled the room, making the torches flutter, followed by a laugh, a laugh that sounded like it came straight from Hell itself.   
  
Low and evil, it made the ground shudder. Young Michael's legs turned to jello and he collapsed against the door, sliding to the ground. He heard a whimpering sound and realized it was him. All he wanted was to be in his bed safe…The cell door slowly creaked open. A huge clown, his mouth filed with razor sharp teeth stepped out of the cage. Young Michael tried to crawl away but his body was paralyzed with fear. The clown walked toward him, saliva dripping from his fangs. Hollow black sockets, where his eyes should have been, stared at him. "You're mine." He growled, pointing a finger at him, an evil laugh filling the room…  
  
  
"Michael…Michael…Are you all right?" Kitt's persistent voice drew Michael out of his reverie. He found he was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles had turned white. "Your vital signs are dangerously high."  
  
Michael took a deep breath, his heart beating so fast in his chest he thought he would have a heart attack any second. He had not had that memory for a long time. It was a nightmare that had haunted him all the way through his teen years. It was a night no one spoke of. His mother, fearing that she would traumatize him further, never spoke of the incident again. He was briefed afterward by the police, but they dismissed it as a child's prank that had gotten out of hand. When his mother had found him missing from his bed they started a search. They did not find him until the next morning, huddled in a corner, catatonic.   
  
"Yea…I'm fine, Kitt. Just a little flashback," he answered, his voice shaky. "How are we doing on our clown friend?"  
  
"He is somewhere inside the building. But, Michael, there is much more to the building than meets the eye. There is a labyrinth of rooms and passageways beneath the structure. I'm not sure what this place really is."  
  
"It's a Halloween Haunted House," Michael answered flippantly, hoping Kitt was not keying in on his growing fear. "A Fright House. They spring up all over the place at Halloween. Some are unbelievably elaborate."  
  
"From your initial reaction it appears that you have encountered one before."  
  
Michael stared at the building. It seemed so familiar. Even the sliver of moon in the sky above the tent was the same. "It was a long time ago. I was a seven year old kid and my imagination got the best of me."  
  
"Forgive me, Michael, but you still seem extremely agitated."   
  
"Some nightmares never truly go away," Michael admitted. "What's the ETA on the local authorities?"  
  
"At least ninety minutes. There was a major accident on the freeway and several Halloween parties have gotten out of hand. It's a small police force and they are sorely outnumbered on a night like tonight."  
  
"I hear you, Pal."  
  
"So, do we wait for backup?" Kitt asked hopefully.  
  
  
"And lose him? No way." Michael still remembered the hysterical call for help from the local high school. A Halloween party had been crashed by a maniac in a clown suit. He had appeared out of nowhere killing three teachers and two students. Michael and Kitt had been only a block away when they heard the call. The local authorities were taxed to the limit and Michael had instantly alerted Devon that he was on the case.   
  
"Alert the local authorities that we've tracked him to this location. I'll go in and keep him busy until they arrive."   
  
"Michael, I'm not sure that is such a good idea. In your present state of mind…"  
  
Michael punched the car door open, "I want this guy, Kitt. He's been in my nightmares too long. Now it's my turn."  
  
Kitt had no reply, the statement was nonsensical. He watched his partner slowly approach the tent, his vital signs off the chart. Whatever had happened to him in the past had left a lasting impression. He only hoped the authorities would arrive in time.  
  
  
Michael parted the purple and yellow tent and stepped inside. His stomach dropped as he saw the same wooden structure he remembered from years ago. He hesitantly reached out and touched the door. It swung open on rusty hinges. The smell was so familiar: dank and musty, as if it had not been opened to the air for eons.   
  
He took a quick shallow breath, pushing back the old memories of a seven year old, and squeezed in through the open door. Alarm bells went off in his mind. This place was the same as he remembered, exactly the same. He reached out and felt the rough planking that covered the walls. The only thing that seemed different was that he was no longer only four feet tall; he was now six foot four. His hair brushed against the cobwebs that covered the ceiling. He lifted his comlink to his mouth.  
  
"Kitt," he whispered, "can you read me?"  
  
"Yes, Michael." Kitt's reply brought a sigh of relief. He was not alone this time.  
  
"Have you got anything for me?"  
  
"A partial schematic. I can scan the ground level, but there is a series of passageways and rooms below that I can not map out. I would suggest that you stay away from them."  
  
"No problem. Have you got a location on our friend?"  
  
"Not since he entered the tent. But I'm sure he is still there. He has not exited, at least not that I have noticed."  
  
"Okay. Then he is still in here somewhere…"  
  
"Michael, please, you are obviously distraught in there. Please, come out and wait for the authorities to arrive."  
  
"How long will that take?"  
  
"At least an hour. But you have him trapped in there. I can seal off the exit. He won't go anywhere."  
  
"Sorry, Kitt. I can't let this guy get away."  
  
"Michael, there is only one exit, that is the door you entered. You can stand watch outside and be assured he is still inside when the authorities arrive."  
  
Alarm bells went off in Michael's mind. There were two exits. Kitt had not detected the back exit. Why? Was there more that he didn't see? "I appreciate you're concern, Kitt. But I'm staying."  
  
"Very well." Kitt acknowledged reluctantly, "I will leave the channel open."  
  
Michael nodded, sucking in a deep breath. How could he have ever known what lay ahead for him when he was a terrified boy of seven, locked inside a haunted house, terrified beyond sanity? But, of all the things that had happened to him since: a stint in the Vietnam war where he was a prisoner of war, his time on the Las Vega police department, his encounter with Tanya Walker and his reawakening as Michael Knight. Nothing could compare with that night.  
  
He took a step forward. A low guttural growl came from behind. He looked back. A black shadow loomed up behind him, but this time he was not terrified. "Kitt?"  
  
"It's mechanical, Michael. You tripped a wire."  
  
"Where were you twenty five years ago?"  
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Never mind. Up ahead the walls should bulge inward."  
  
"You're right, Michael. There are hydraulic pumps behind the walls. How did you know?"  
  
Michael smiled ironically, "Been here, done that."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Don't worry about it. Neither do I."  
  
Michael passed through the bulging walls, the rough planks squeezing at his shoulders. All palor tricks. If only he had known that when he was seven.  
  
"Ahead should be a large room with a back exit." Michael crawled through the bulging walls, finding the opening to the large room, just as he remembered it. If this was as it was twenty years ago, there would be a cage next to the exit. That was where he had seen it. The very heart of his nightmares.  
  
"It is exactly as you described…except…"  
  
"Except…?"  
  
"I see a doorway leading to a lower level at the back of the cage. I believe if the clown is still on the premises he is behind that doorway."  
  
The cage stood in the corner, just as large, just as ominous. Fear so real he could feel it pressing in on him, like a solid weight rose up from his stomach, constricting his throat. He could not control it. All the fears of a seven year old boy came flooding back. He looked around, straining to see in the flickering lights from the torches held in brackets on the walls, creating macabre dancing shadows in the darkness. Smoke curled its way up to the ceiling and hovered like clouds above. His instinct told him to run. But he was a grown man now, not a seven year old child that could be frightened by a circus clown. The sound of a foot scraping dirt behind him made Michael spin around to see…  
  
"Michael…?" Kitt watched the monitor. Michael's vital signs had just vanished for a split second, as if for that moment, time did not exist. Kitt checked his circuits, did a quick diagnostic, nothing was wrong with his systems. "Michael, answer me." Silence. Kitt revved his engine. The building behind the tent was made of flimsy wood. If need be he could easily crash through the wall. "Michael…?"   
  
  
Michael heard the growl. Deep. Animalistic. Savage. Even at six foot four the clown towered over him. Its huge mouth hung open, exposing razor sharp fangs that dripped with saliva, hungry for the kill. The stench of death filled the air. Michael tried to move, but he was rooted in place. The clown reached out for him, his hand gnarled, his huge, thick fingers tipped with long ugly claws that could tear a man in half with one swipe. Michael tried to bat the hand away, but it was as hard as steel. Pain lanced through his arm. He staggered backwards, slamming into the bars of the cage, his arm pulsing with pain. Behind him to the left was the exit. The green Exit sign still blinked dimly above the door. The last time the door had been locked from the outside, keeping him a prisoner all night.  
  
"What do you want?" Michael gasped, trying to keep the terror from his voice.  
  
A smile played at the clown's mouth, baring his ugly teeth more. "I knew you would return someday." He growled, saliva dripping from his fangs. "They all do."  
  
Michael's breath caught in his throat…stunned. The clown remembered him? It took a step closer, its eyes nothing but hollow black holes. What was this thing? Kitt had said the mask wasn't a mask at all, but real flesh and bone. He felt the bars of the cell digging into his back. He was trapped. "Kitt!" he screamed, knowing that Kitt would be listening. The clown lunged forward, its massive hands gripping his shoulders like steel vices and flung him to the floor. He couldn't fight this thing, what ever it was. It stood over him, the stench coming from its vile mouth nearly making Michael wretch. It raised its right arm high above its head, and like a pendulum, the arm swept down and across Michael's chest, its razor sharp claws slashing through his skin, raking across his ribs. He felt the pain and the hot surge of blood soak his torn shirt. Paralyzed with fear he realized he was going to die, here and now, at the hands of a crazed inhuman clown. As outrageous and impossible as it sounded, it was happening. He saw the clown raise his arm again through a haze of pain and terror, knowing that the next swipe of the huge hand would mean his death.  
  
The building suddenly exploded around them. The clown whirled around to see Kitt emerging into the room, strips of purple and yellow tent material caught in his windshield wipers. Broken planks and wood dust covered his once shiny black skin. Kitt had heard Michael's last cry for help and burst into the building. What he saw was beyond his computer programming. Michael lay sprawled on the floor beneath the clown, blood covering his chest, his face frozen in a look of horror and disbelief.  
  
  
"Michael!" Kitt screamed, his processors overloaded by the horror of pure evil standing before him.   
  
The clown turned his head slowly to face Kitt. "He's mine." Came the guttural warning.  
  
"Step away from Michael." Kitt ordered. "I am programmed not to take a human life, but you are far from human. I will destroy you if you set another finger on him."  
  
Michael's chest was on fire with pain from the deep gashes left by the clown's vicious attack. Through a haze he heard a familiar voice. Suddenly he realized Kitt was talking, but not to him. He couldn't take his eyes off the clown standing over him, his long nails, like daggers, still dripping with his blood. He watched the clown stare at Kitt for a long moment, then raise its face toward the ceiling and he began to laugh. Michael gasped as he remembered that laugh, so many years ago. It resonated off the walls, making the torches flicker and nearly die out. What hell was this clown from?  
  
Michael heard Kitt rev his engine, ready to attack if the clown made another move. The clown turned slowly to look down at him, his razor sharp teeth glinting in the torch light. It reached down and grabbed his tattered shirt lifting him off the ground as if he weighed ten pounds. The door at the back of the cage opened slowly on rusty hinges. Cold, foul smelling air poured from it. Michael grabbed one of the steel bars and held on with his good right hand. The clown simply jerked him back and Michael's grip was wrenched from the bar. The clown was going to drag him through that door into the depts of whatever hell was down there.  
  
Kitt saw the clown reach down and grab Michael liked a rag doll. Fear and rage overcame him, and he accelerated forward headed straight for the clown. The clown stepped into the cage dragging Michael with him. Kitt knew he had to do something. If Michael was drawn into that door he knew he would never see his partner again. He activated his grappling hook and shot it forward, the explosive force carrying it into the cage and driving it into the clowns back. The clown screamed in agony and rage. The torches flared up, licking at the ceiling. Kitt began reeling the hook back, dragging the clown and Michael out of the cage. The clown grabbed onto the bar with his free hand and the grappling hook shuddered under the strength of the clown's grip.   
  
Michael heard the squeal of Kitt's tires an instant before he felt the car slam into the clown. The clown released its grip and Michael sailed through the air landing hard on Kitt's windshield. Stunned, he heard Kitt's order to get inside the car. He obeyed, not knowing exactly what he was doing. The driver's door slammed shut behind him and he crouched down in the seat as the clown rose up before Kitt's prow, his mouth gaping open in a hideous smile. Kitt slammed the transmission into reverse and tried to power his way over the debris that was once the Haunted House behind him. The clown lumbered toward them. There was death in his black empty eyes. There was no escaping. Kitt felt Michael recoil in his seat, his vital signs dropping. The talons of the clown had raked deep, causing severe internal damage. He had to get him to a hospital. Kitt realized in horror that he may not be able to get his friend to help in time. He had lost. The clown leaped into the air and came smashing through Kitt's T-top landing in the back seat. It wrapped its huge arms around the seat squeezing Michael's chest until he couldn't breathe. Kitt was helpless. He had never met pure evil before. He heard Michael's plea for help…  
  
"Kitt…Kitt?!."  
  
A shiver traveled over Kitt's MBS shell and he felt as if a blanket of fear and helplessness was suddenly lifted off him. His systems slowly came back on line. His scanner activated and he found himself in the Foundation's garage, Michael and Bonnie huddled around him.  
  
"Kitt, come on buddy, snap out of it." Michael urged, his voice filled with concern.  
  
"Michael…?" Kitt asked. He still felt disoriented. One minute he was in the Haunted House and now… "What happened?"  
  
A smile of relief spread across Bonnie's face. "We thought we lost you for a minute. Your circuits overloaded. Never do that again."  
  
"I don't understand." Kitt felt Michael open the driver's door and slide in. "I was telling you a Halloween story from my childhood and…"  
  
"The clown…"  
  
Bonnie gently patted the roof, "I think, Kitt that you had what could only be described as a nightmare. You projected Michael's story as your own …"  
  
Kitt thought about it. The concept that he could create such an evil story in his mind scared him. He had almost lost Michael to pure evil. It was not in him to create such a story. He cared too much for Michael. He would never put him in that kind of jeopardy.   
  
Michael gently squeezed the steering wheel, "Hey, Pal, don't sweat it. We all have strange dreams once in awhile. Just a little too much Halloween for you."   
  
Kitt, still stunned, had to agree. There was no other explanation. Michael was safe, he was safe. It had all been his imagination. With a sigh of relief he opened all the doors and the hatchback. He could still smell the stench of the clown's breath inside. If this was what dreams were like he wanted no part of them.  
  
Michael slipped out of the car and patted the roof, "Sorry, Pal, but I'm dead tired. Now that you're all right I'm going to hit the sack. Thank God Halloween only happens once a year."  
  
"Of course, Michael. Your vital signs are quite depressed. You need a good night's sleep."  
  
"See you in the morning." As he turned to walk out the door Kitt's sensors froze. On the back of Michael's shirt was a bloody handprint, too big for anything else but the Clowns…  
  
Happy Halloween….. 


End file.
